


To Prongs the Prat

by Mirgaxus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dubious Voyeurism and Exhibitionism, Exhibitionism, Homophobia, Homophobic James, Letter, M/M, Marauders' Era, POV Sirius Black, Voyeurism, smuts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-19 00:41:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11302176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirgaxus/pseuds/Mirgaxus
Summary: Greetings my brother-in-pranking, comrade-in-scheming, platonic soulmate, et cetera et cetera.(Moony doesn't think that I will actually give you this letter. I don't think he should be quite so sure of that. There’s not much I wouldn’t dare to do, as you all should know well by now.)





	To Prongs the Prat

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for Wereflamingo and NachoDiablo for betareading!
> 
> I enjoyed being a nerd and checking out for once minor stuff like dates and weekdays to fit Lily's birthday and full moon phases, but of course, I only realized the glaring, big mistake after I had finished writing... I messed up with years, and so this is now happening in sixth year, and somehow Lily and James are together already. *facepalm* I *did* mean to write this as a seventh year fic... Ops!

**_February 2nd 1977, Tuesday_ **

**_To Prongs the Prat,_ **

**_from Padfoot the Patient Friend Who Has Had Enough Of Your Shit,_ **

 

Greetings my brother-in-pranking, comrade-in-scheming, platonic soulmate, et cetera et cetera.

 

(Moony doesn't think that I will actually give you this letter. I don't think he should be quite so sure of that. There’s not much I wouldn’t dare to do, as you all should know well by now.)

 

What a weekend! Evans' seventeenth birthday party certainly started The Year of THE Birthday Parties with an unexpected bang. You are a good influence on her in many ways, mate - I don't know how you managed to persuade her uptight ass into agreeing for a night out in the Hog's Head. Either she is not as much of a bore as I have believed for years, or you have successfully infected her in these past few weeks with some Marauderiasis Pranksiasis.

 

(I wonder if Marauderiasis Pranksiasis is sexually transmittable. You and I have had the most severe cases of it for our whole life, whereas Moony has started to show more severe symptoms only after I got involved with him - which supports my hypothesis. Mate, we should have made it our mission to infect more people before we got hitched and committed to those two. Should have shagged our way through the worthy and converted our very own Army of Marauder Minions while we could.)

 

However, as much as I approve of certain influences you have had on her character, I deeply hope that she will not catch your chronic condition of ~~bastardiuness~~ ~~jerkness~~ jerkitude re:Me and Moony. _'What jerkitude?'_ you may ask, you prat. Well, I know that you grimaced there when I _subtly_ stated in above paragraph having shagged him.

 

Moony and I have had sex. A lot of sex. A lot of good, hot, gay sex.

 

There, don't you have a rather jerky grimace on your face? That's the jerkitude I'm talking about.

 

Your oblivious ass might wonder now what exactly sparked me to write this rather pissed off letter to you and why I'm bringing up these 'highly uncomfortable' facts (that is, highly uncomfortable _for you_ ). After all, Moony and I have been patient with you for a long time (too long, in my opinion), waiting for you to get over yourself - and so probably in your mind, nothing out of the ordinary even happened during the weekend. Just a good night out, and you doing your 'best' to ignore the fact that your best friends are gay for each other, just like you always try to do.

 

Let me take you through some Things that happened on that glorious birthday party; some Things that you most likely have already forgotten all about; some Things that have finally snapped my thinned patience past the breaking point.

 

 _'What's the big deal, if these things were so minor that I don't even have any recollection of them?'_ you may ask. _'You drama queen, Padfoot! Making a big deal out of nothing.'_

 

I assure you, Moony and I have not forgotten them, and I'm not being a bloody drama queen. Even if Moony shared the last of the jam with you yesterday at breakfast (isn't he generous and forgiving - I would have eaten the jam just out of spite and spat it all back, but good for you that I wasn't holding the jar at the time); and even if he let you copy his homework; and even if he has told me repeatedly since Sunday that he doesn't want to make a fuss and cause a scene... Even though all these things have happened, I know for a fact that he has not forgotten anything said or done by you on Saturday 29th/Sunday 30th, and is silently mooning over it all.

 

So, now that I have poked your questionable consciousness and hopefully sparked a bit of guilt in you to make sure that you read through this letter - let me paint few scenes for you and refresh your memory of the events, since I suspect your memory of the Saturday night was wiped clean around 3am to make room for the sight of Evans taking her bra off on top of the Shack's roof.

 

 

**The First Thing That Was Not So Cool**

 

It was late Saturday evening when we all embarked on our quest for illegal booze. We had just hidden our brooms after flying from the tower with the disillusionment charms on us, and had started on our way towards the Hogsmeade.

 

Moony and I hung at the back of the group, while Marlene was entertaining everyone else with some rather loud story that I honestly wasn't listening to at all. I was busy feeling excited for the night out, and Moony was complaining to me about the lousy school broom he had had to use, and I was teasing him about it almost innocently, telling him how 'he could share my broom on the way back, although his arse might get even more sore if he sat on my lap', et cetera, little innocent flirting, and he shoved me, and I tried to tickle him, and then we noticed that you turned to look at us from ahead.

 

Well, that face of disgust you pulled at us killed the mood rather well, and even though you turned back to girls after I gave you the finger, neither of us smiled for the rest of the walk, and there was no more touching until I awkwardly brushed his shoulder, and he smiled strainedly at me.

 

All we were doing was goofing around. You could have avoided looking at us and could have let us enjoy the moment.

 

I wonder how you would react if you ever saw us touching each other less innocently.

 

Oh Merlin, how lovely Moony is to touch properly - his skin is so damn sensitive, and fuck, the little gasps and twitches he does when I drag my fingertips lightly and slowly across his skin.

 

I could spend entire nights just touching him, teasing him. Kissing his wrists with feather light touches. Or holding his legs firmly in place, spread wide open, and licking his inner thighs. Or maybe sitting on him, massaging his arms, sliding my hands over his chest, letting my ass rub against his desperate cock. All the while whispering to him how beautiful he looks, watching him unravel in front of me, listening to him losing his beloved wit and words, and turning into a sweaty mess of _'please more now please I can't more fuck now'_.

 

He is so gorgeous when he gets to that point, you should see it.

 

I wonder how you would look if you ever caught us like that. If you walked in and saw us, touching each other properly, not just with a stolen brush of hands against each other. Would you freeze there, not able to do anything else besides stare at us?

 

I would continue touching him, and maybe at first he wouldn't even realize you were there - he would continue to gasp, to moan, to beg for more, and I would look at you there, at the doorway, and I would smirk at you and at your flushed, shocked face, and give in to his pleas.

 

What would we do, Jamie?

 

Would I fuck him there and then, in front of you? Or would I lower myself onto his cock, fuck myself on it? Or would I take him in my mouth, letting him grasp at my hair, and would you stay there, staring at my lips, staring at his come dripping from my lips after he has come inside my mouth?

 

And maybe he would notice you there afterwards, notice you staring, and he would be embarrassed, but oh, too far gone to really care, to really do much about it.

 

I wonder, how would you look at us after that?

 

 

**The Second Thing That Was Even Less Cool**

 

It was early night, and we had got to the Hog's Head. You were having some silly argument with Lily about whether we should open the champagne at midnight, or at 4am, her actual birth time; Wormy and Marlene were playing cards with those shady guys in the corner with the money you'd given to them; Dorcas, Mary, and Alice were cheering them on. Moony and I were sitting at the same table as you and Lily, drinking, and arguing about whether or not I should go and join the game too.

 

As I said to Moony something to the effect of, _'but what's the life without some risk?'_ , I moved my foot to press it against his foot under the table.

 

Well, I thought it was his foot.

 

Oh, the jump you did on your chair when you felt me rubbing against your leg. It would have been comical, with how you splashed your beer onto your robes, if, after a lot of cursing and Lily leaving the table giggling to get you a new drink, you hadn't looked at us with contempt and told us to stop screwing around and ruining the night.

 

You know, I would have punched you right there and then, if Moony hadn't excused himself and I hadn't had to follow him outside to make sure he was alright.

 

Again, I had been just goofing around. All you had to do was to kick me and laugh it off. But no, you had to be a prat about it.

 

Oh, if a simple game of footsy riled you up that much, I wonder what you would have done if you had noticed what happened a couple of weeks ago in Charms. THAT was much more than just an innocent game of footsy.

 

Moony and I were sitting next to each other at the back of the room, as you know - all the way across the room from you and Wormy, like we have been forced to since fourth year and the Incident of Exploding Feathers.

 

If you had been there, near us, maybe sitting on the other side of me, you might have turned and noticed my hand on Moony's thigh, and his quickening breath. If you had sat beside us, you might have been able to hear me whispering to him, _'keep quiet'_ , before inching my hand closer to his crotch.

 

What would you have done? You wouldn't have broken the marauder's code and ratted us out, that much I know. You would have had to sit there, beside us, aware of what was going on, and endure it.

 

Would you have tried to look elsewhere, to not notice his cheeks flushing, to not notice his struggling to keep his eyes open and keep writing notes? Would you have tried to tune out his sharp intakes of breath?

 

I would have pretended not to have noticed that you had noticed us. I would have kept my eyes on my notes, like I did then, while I started to rub his cock slowly through his robes, knowing full well that the pressure and rubbing were more torturous than pleasing, too rough and not enough to give good relief. I tried to hide my smirk as, despite that, his hands started to tremble and his handwriting became scrawly. I leaned closer to him, to whisper into his ear, _'keep quiet, or someone will notice'_ , and he bit his lip hard, but managed to keep quiet.

 

What would you have said if you had sat there, and when the bell had rang, I would have turned and smirked at you, before we would have rushed off?

 

Would you have said something to us? Would you have been able to even look back at us?

 

Would you have looked discreetly at the map in the hallway, ignoring Wormy's questions, would you have watched transfixed at our footprints, wondering what we were up to? Would you have come after us to see? Would you have wanted to come after us, but been too scared to come?

 

Ah, probably you wouldn't have come. But when we later came back and joined you guys at the lunch, you would have known exactly what we had been up to.

 

After that, an innocent bump of a foot under a table would never have made you so riled up, right?

 

Pity you weren't there.

 

 

**The Third Thing That Was The Last Straw**

 

It was nearly midnight, and we were outside, having been kicked out of the pub after Wormy had been accused of cheating at cards.

 

We were sitting on the Shrieking Shack's porch, and there hadn't been any more unpleasant incidents after the footsy one. You and Evans were all over each other, the girls had challenged themselves to figure out a way to climb on top of the shack without any magic and were with Wormy circling the shack looking for a good climbing route.

 

The moon was high on the sky - less than a week until the full, and Moony was looking at it and mooning about it and saying some nonsense about how if he squinted just the right way, the moon looked almost full to him, and wasn't that supposed to be romantic. I had no clue what exactly he was explaining about, but I remember I kept nodding and looking at his face, and maybe I was too drunk and high to concentrate properly to both looking and listening, and anyway, looking at his face was more interesting.

 

You interrupted his rambling and my staring when you stopped snogging Evans and shouted loudly that it was a minute to midnight, and everyone should come and be ready to sing to Evans.

 

Either nobody was as into singing as you were, or nobody had heard or understood your yelling, because in a minute, it was just us four still at the porch, and after you and Moony had done your poor drunken performance of _‘Happy Birthday’_ and the champagne had been opened, you and Evans got back to snogging.

 

And well - it was late, there was nobody else around, we had had our share of drinks, and we had been able to relax, and maybe we both assumed that you were preoccupied with Evans - but obviously we should have known better. Obviously even Evans couldn't stop you from noticing how we, _gasp_ , dared to kiss each other for a few seconds.

 

You couldn't just have let it go, couldn't have turned back to Evans for another kiss?

 

"The bloody perverts," you declared drunkenly to nobody in particular with a sneer, "Exhibitti- Exhibiati- Exhibitionists. Wanting to shove it in others' faces."

 

Remember when you asked me in the morning after why you had a bloody lip and I told you I had punched you? Yeah, that's when I punched you. Square on the mouth, and oh how satisfying it was to see you flail and fall over. I'm glad Evans refused to heal your lip, and got into a short tiff with you too, even after Moony had tried to defuse the situation stupidly, laugh it off, and claim that you must have been just 'joking'.

 

And I don't care how many times Moony keeps saying that you didn't say anything that bad and that I should just let it go - it was your fucking tone when you said that, not the words. Your fucking holier than thou attitude, like you were above us, like what we have was filthy compared to what you have with Evans, like we should be ashamed.

 

I'll punch you again if I hear that tone coming out of your mouth again. I'll punch you until you lose this blind spot of yours, or at least learn to keep your mouth shut.

 

And so we have reached the conclusion of this letter.

 

Prongs. Let me recap, and spell this all out to you. Very. Clearly.

 

It's not exhibitionism or perversion or anything for you to pass judgement on if Moony and I, very much in love and mostly in the closet to most of the world, share an affectionate small touch while you are within viewing distance of us, and you happen to turn just then and see it. No, that kind of touching was not done to annoy you personally.

 

It's not exhibitionism if we play some innocent footsy under the table. Even if I smirked when you splashed your beer on your robes, that was not a clever ploy to torture you.

 

It's not exhibitionism if Moony and I are enjoying the evening, are pretty drunk and feeling just so good and a little horny and happy and in love and all that good shit, and go for it and kiss (even rather chastely, I must add) in front of you. Believe it, it had nothing to do with you, and we didn't do it to shove ourselves in your face.

 

I admit that it _is_ purposeful pervy exhibitionism if, let's say, I write a long explicit letter, and I tie Moony up and read that letter aloud to him, telling him how I'm going to leave the letter on your pillow the next evening for you to read, how you are going to read all these dirty details about us, about him, and I describe to him how hot and bothered the letter is going to make you - no matter how much you try to fight it and how much it annoys and possibly even confuses you to get turned on by reading about two guys, about your friends, about us. How you want to look away from the words, how you want to stop yourself from reading further, but can't help yourself.

 

It's exhibitionism when Moony, pretending to be all proper and scandalized, tries to deny how hot and bothered it makes him to think about you reading about us, while his cock is hardening in my hand and betraying his words.

 

It's exhibitionism when he comes all over my hands while I'm whispering to him how you are never going to be able to look him in the eye after reading the letter, because all you can wonder about when you see him from now on is going to be how hot he must have looked when he came, and how it's not only going to be his come that stains this letter but yours too after you have finished reading it and have to wank off, with the letter forgotten beside you on the bed - or maybe clutched tightly in your other hand, as a reminder that the letter was real, the words were real, and yes, you just read it all, and how fucking wrong it is for you to get off on this.

 

It's exhibitionism that we did this all last night in the dorm, while you were in your bed just a few feet away us. It's exhibitionism that our silencing charms 'failed' in the end, and it's exhibitionism that I relished in making him lose himself and get as loud as possible, just for you, knowing how light a sleeper you are.

 

But wasn't it rather voyeuristic of you to keep quiet and not interrupt us? You could have stopped us and let us know the charm was missing. I know you were awake.

 

You bloody hypocrite. We all know who's the biggest perv in this dorm - and news flash, it's not us.

 

 

With lots of love,

Padfoot

 

PS. Keep up your asshole tendencies, and Evans will hear all about The Voyeuristic Adventures of The Pervert With The Cloak.

 

PPS. And don't think I don't have the proof to back up my tale to Evans. Thought your photo collection was hidden well? Think again.

 

PPPS. Very artistic photos, though, have to give you credit for that. You've got hidden depths, you perv. If you ever feel inclined for fresh models, let us know.

**Author's Note:**

> I head canon that the story continues with Lily getting her hands on the letter later on, which sparks a smutty penpalship between her and Sirius (after she has given an earful to James) - to the exasperation of both Remus and James ^_~
> 
> The prompt this fic was based on:  
> "It's not exhibitionism if _____________"
> 
> Also. Yikes. Now it's over. My smut writing cherry has been popped. The first fic I have ever written with a rating over "T". I hope you enjoyed it! ^^


End file.
